Marry Me
by Aberii
Summary: So Norway's engaged to Sweden but she's fallen for Denmark and Finland's in love with Sweden but Sweden's desperately trying to build his relationship with Norway. Period drama meets Hetalia. Rating may go up to M in the future
1. Prologue

**Marry Me**

_Prologue_

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* * *

  
_

My name is Norway. Though… I suppose that if you're reading this now you must already know that. But if this diary has somehow gotten into the hands of somebody unfamiliar I also suppose that I should make the correct introductions.

As I said before, my name is Norway. Norge to family and Nor to friends but never Norbie or Norgey. Except to him. My family was a wealthy one of the highest regard, earning well beyond our needs through a lucky discovery of several oil spots back in our home country. We moved to Dorran when I was around six or seven to join family friends that had shared similar fortunes to our own and we never looked back.

Father never went back home other than for business ventures of the utmost importance that he couldn't bring himself to leave to the usual employees. Everything else was handled by his, for lack of a better word, minions and we were left to live the life of luxury that he and mother had always dreamed of.

My younger sister and I lived a happy and simple life free from labour and torment that other children our age seemed to have faced back in the old country. And for this reason I was, and still am, eternally grateful to our parents for giving us the chance to escape such hardships as working at a young age and being married off to a drunkard to raise a family of five on the barest of minimums. But at the same time… even to this day I feel as though I would have been better off in that carefree, though harsh, reality rather than this suffocating fantasy world of the rich and famous.

My sister, Iceland, is three years younger than I and was always all too quick to comply to the rules and regulations that father set down. If he said jump, she'd say "how high, father?" and then smile sweetly as she bounced on the spot for him. Which was cute in our childhood. Not so cute at the age of eighteen.

Anyway, as I said, my sister and I experienced a relatively normal and happy, though somewhat sheltered, childhood... That is if you discount the weekly disciplinary from mother because the one of the gardeners would find us running around the woods of our house in search of faeries. Which to this day I still believe lived there; I know what I saw with my own eyes regardless of my young age.

Iceland was, like myself, stubborn to the point of rage. While she was all too quick to comply with mother and father's rules anybody else had a large problem in a short package on their hands should they attempt to control her. Iceland was many times described as a volcano waiting to erupt, which I experienced firsthand many times. She would start out the day as a perfect woman; demure, shy and restrained. But come evening she would be in some form of a rage or sulk, flying off the handle at any little thing.

But my sister was not just my sister, she was also my oldest, dearest and closest friend. And for the lies she told and the secrets she kept I will always love her.

I was schooled at the old church. Mother and father were deeply Christian, and at the time so was I but now… I often wonder if I have any sort of faith at all, and we too were raised by their values and ideals. My education was one of the finest that money could buy. Girls only, there was no interaction with any boys my own age until I was around eleven. I'm sure I used to have male friends in the old country but my memories of that place are long faded and irrelevant.

Other than Sweden of course. Our parents were great friends with his and in turn many of our days in childhood were spent dragging the tall, bespectacled boy around the garden in search of troll holes and other folke. Sweden was like a brother to me and I loved him as one. I considered him a member of my family, the brother we'd never had.

Sweden was two years older than myself and into our adulthood he towered a good foot and several inches over my own frame. Many described him as a gentle giant… and that's how I used to see him too. Many times today I still do. When I see the man smile calmly and return a frog to the garden pond amidst the children's cries I find it hard to believe…

Anyway, suffice to say that Sweden was the only male peer contact that Iceland and I had for a very long time in our new lives.

Little happened during our teenage years besides the regular schooling and still running around the garden, something that mother heavily chastised us for the older we got. For as long as I live I'll never forget the looks on her face when I would return home at sunset in a crisp white gown covered in mud and moss. One would think she would have just simply learned to stop buying me white after the fourteenth incident in two months.

Somewhere around the time between my sixteenth birthday and my mother and father's twentieth wedding anniversary I was betrothed to Sweden.

And at our engagement party I met Denmark.

My world was never the same.


	2. I

**Marry Me**

_I_**  
**

* * *

I'd fought father over the engagement from the moment he announced it at the dinner table. I remember waiting until the last guests had parted, and given me their congratulations, before I rounded on the man. I hated him. Never before had I felt such rage against a single person in all of my life. My father, a man I'd loved with all of my heart- a man who'd promised never to do anything without my consent, had married me off to a boy I felt nothing more than sisterly love towards.

I remember now… before I could shout at him I had to run. I'd run into the garden and vomited. Just the thought… the thought of having to share a bed, to lay with him made my stomach wretch its very insides out. He was my brother as far as I was concerned at that time. And to marry and make love to Sweden was nothing short of incest.

I'd always known that this was going to come but I had never expected it to be so soon. So sudden. Or to Sweden.

By the time I'd regained my composure and returned inside I had no energy to fight. I bypassed mother and father without a word, avoiding their eyes when they called out to me. Mother had tried to hug and congratulate me on the engagement. I shoved her off and made for the room I shared with Iceland, collapsing in a sobbing mess into her arms as soon as I passed the threshold.

"You stink." She'd said outright as she held me close to her own body, and she was probably right. I'd been standing outside, being sick for a good ten minutes and didn't wash up upon my return. But at that moment neither of us cared.

I cried until my eyes were dry and sleep came. So did the morning. And so did the most vicious argument with my parents I'd ever had in my life.

For the life of me I cannot remember what happened and I'm sorry that such an important piece of this tale is missing in this form but my old mind can't recall a single event that took place other than the distant sounds of shouting and screaming from the various members of my family.

I just recall sobbing into my mother's arms late into the night, asking her why Sweden of all people. I never received an answer to that question until years later.

For the next few months I didn't hear or see hide nor hair of Sweden. And he was pretty hard to miss if he was around.

Sweden, now eighteen, had grown into a handsome young man. Tall, well over the six foot boundary, and strong there was no denying that I had claimed one of the most eligible bachelors in our small town for my own. His jaw had sharpened over the years along with the rest of his features. All sharp and stony. To a person who hadn't known the man for as long as I had it was easy to see how he may be intimidating. Sweden had a bad habit of setting his jaw and furrowing his brow when he stared off into space, something that many people took as a sign of hostility rather than my then fiancé's daydreaming.

At some point he'd overtaken me in the height department. As children we were often on equal footing where height was concerned but then, and now, Sweden had grown to dwarf me in his shadow. I held no fear towards him, to me he was still the little boy too scared to pick me or Iceland up in case he dropped one of us or caused any kind of pain to anybody through his own actions.

But still, I couldn't find the man attractive in any way other than casual admiration as one may do to a painting in an art gallery. To me he was handsome in a way that should be admired and made me desire to compliment him, but no fire bloomed between us for a long time.

I knew of the duties he would expect from me as a wife and I worried. I knew far too well from listening in on the kitchen staff what I would grow to experience in the presence of a man. But none of this I felt for Sweden. The "fire" the women described was nowhere to be found. My heart retained its regular beating pattern, I didn't blush in his presence, my stomach didn't "coil" as they described and my legs never weakened at the thought of him.

But father still wouldn't call the marriage off. No matter how hard I begged and pleaded he would not speak to Sweden or Sweden's family about the matter.

My fate was sealed.

And so should have been my lips.

* * *

Three months after the engagement a dinner was held in our honour.

For the first time since I received the news I saw Sweden face to face. We were sat at the top of a long table together, he in a new suit for the occasion and I in a new ball gown mother had had specially designed to celebrate. Blue with golden trim; the corset pushed up my bosom whilst sucking in my waist to a perfect hourglass and the skirt flared gently at the waist. My hair was tied up in loose curls, held in place by little golden clips in the shape of butterflies.

I supposed to the other diners I was the example of a blushing bride to be. Except there was no blush. I remember my mother chastising me between courses for looking "as though I'd been sucking a lemon and not looking at Sweden once".

Twice during the night I recall Sweden attempting to hold my hand while it was rested upon the cloth of the table once I'd finished my food. And twice I had snatched my hand out of his grasp despite the crestfallen look his handsome face took when I did so.

He deserved it, I thought. I couldn't take my anger and discontent out on my family or his so instead my young mind decided to take it out on the poor man himself.

After the dinner we moved to the sitting room for talk and dance. While at the dinner table I had been able to avoid his touch by picking up a fork or knife and talk by pretending to be engrossed with my food here I could not avoid the man.

Before we'd even entered the room his arm had encircled my waist and his hands were at my hip holding me to him and I had no chance to push him off. I held back a groan and bit my tongue as I let him lead me around the sea of congratulations, handshakes and hugs from the various family and friends.

I could accept this for now. That was until he introduced me to an old colleague of his father's as "m'wife". I wanted to drag him out of the room intent to chew him out but my heart stopped when I looked up to address him for the first time that night.

There was something different about Sweden's features. They were harder than usual; the jut of his chin was sterner but at the same time… his eyes were softer than I'd ever seen them. The gentle blue was calm and joyful and then it all made sense.

Why mother wouldn't tell me why they'd married me off.

Why father wouldn't call the whole thing off.

It all made sense.

The grip on my hip was bruisingly tight and I realised for the first time that it was not out of nerves or fear. It was possession. And the harshness of his features was through pride.

Mother and father hadn't arranged this marriage at all.

Sweden had asked them for my hand.

And they'd given it to him.


	3. II

**Marry Me**

_II_

**

* * *

**

Sweden led me around the remainder of the guests at the party with little interaction. I smiled lightly and entered small chit chat between the friends and family he introduced me to, paying little heed to the man at my hip. Between people Sweden repeatedly attempted to begin conversation with me which I managed to swiftly ignored in favour of staring at me own shoes or saying my hellos to the guests.

Several of his work colleagues were in attendance (Sweden and his family were all very high end accountants) and I was forced to pretend like I was interested in their business which ranged from Tod and his wife's youngest son digging up half of their garden in search of worms to feed to his new, exotic fish to Marie's cat being overweight.

The only people I was not introduced to were a group of young men of a similar age to Sweden and I stood in the far corner of the room laughing loudly amongst one another.

"M'football fr'nds," Sweden had simply explained. And I would have been quite content to leave the matter there and return to the safety of my own family against the backdrop of gentle string music had I not caught the eye of just one of the group.

If the gentleman, I say gentleman but he was for from one as you'll learn eventually, had not at that precise moment decided to slap one of the others around the side of his head and pull him into a headlock I probably would have missed him entirely and never spent a second thought on the group again. I held no interest in the sport that my future husband so diligently played and followed and fiancée, wife or anything I would not be caught dead near a football pitch unless it was a matter of urgency or grave importance.

From the moment my eyes landed on him I felt my breath hitch, Something I'm quite certain that Sweden saw me do, and myself overcome with a great need to be introduced to these people above all others. He was similar in body to Sweden; tall, handsome… Gods he was handsome, with wild blond hair and a devil's grin smeared across his features as he held the other man under his arm.

My eyesight was never the best but from what I could make out he was easily the best looking man at the party. I could almost hear his laughter alone from across the room- it was filled with joy that comes only from that freedom of youth and for a moment I swore I could feel my lips turning themselves up into a smile for the first time that day.

Determined, I placed a hand on Sweden's bicep to get his attention,

"Sweden, idear/i," I said, putting emphasise on the dear. If he had indeed desired this marriage of his own accord then surely he wouldn't have been able to say no to me, "Don't you think that you should introduce me to your… teammates are they? It would be terribly rude to greet the entirety of the party besides them,"

And it did work. That was the first time I properly spoke to Sweden that night other than the sharp replies I'd been giving to the man before that moment. In an instant I saw his face soften and a happiness return to his features upon address, "Y's," he simply smiled, steering me by my waist towards the group. (I think it may also have been at this point that I decided I didn't like being driven around like a horse by anybody.)

Within moments we had reached the group of males, all between eighteen and thirty, and with it Sweden's grip on my hip had tightened to the point where I was beginning to feel a slight pain. Gently I peeled his hand away. I think he got the message as even though his hand returned back to my body within a second of removal it never once returned to that crushing tightness.

The group calmed as we approached and as I got a better view I learned that my original assumptions were correct, the man was even handsomer up close. As soon as he saw us he'd let go of the other- a small man with large eyebrows and disgruntled look upon his face and grinned broadly. I laughed. Something that didn't go unnoticed by Sweden. And neither did the glare he sent in the man's direction either.

I suppose now would be a good time to mention the reason behind Sweden's behaviour here. See… In my adolescence I was known as what you may refer to today as "an ice queen". I was said by many to be aloof and described by several as having a look that mostly resembled complete boredom even in the most interesting of situations. So… to be laughing at a man I'd never met before at my own engagement party where I'd repeatedly ignored my betrothed wounded his pride a little I would imagine.

But there was something about him that made me feel something close to happiness at that moment in time. It was as though suffering through the entire night had been worth it if not just to meet this one man out of a party of one hundred and fifty.

He was, as I suspected, roughly the same age as Sweden. Standing between the two, and my later experience, I would guess that he was one or two inches shorter than Sweden (which still placed him just over a foot taller than myself) but more or less the same in their body built. He had broad shoulders and arms defined with muscle like Sweden. His eyes were a vibrant blue that sparkled full of excitement and happiness at everything and anything. A strong chin and thick, though nowhere near as thick as the other man's, eyebrows. Along his jaw line were the beginnings of a beard and at his cheeks there were small lines cased by his constant smiling.

"B'ys, th's 's m'wife," I was snapped out of my staring by Sweden's speech and internally something told me to kick him hard in the leg for addressing me as his wife before we were wed. Thankfully I managed to keep my cool, though I did manage to stand on his foot hard enough to make something crack and shoot a glare at him. I opened my mouth to correct him but… somebody else had obviously had the same idea.

"Calm it, Swedey, you've not even set a date yet! 's a bit too earlier to be callin' her names like that yet, an' by that look on that pretty lil' face of hers she doesn't like it one little bit," The man smiled, wild hair shaking as he nodded his head and smiled with every word, "An' she's definitely a cutey, how'd ya manage to steal this one for y'own?"

"D'nmark!" Sweden snapped- for the first time since I'd known him this was the first time I'd seen any sort of irritation between he and another person. I was surprised and oddly amused at the turn the evening had taken, "D'n't t'lk to m'wi-… m'fiancé like th't,"

He laughed.

"Seriously though? How'd ya get a beauty like this on y'arm? I reckon she'd look nicer…" I barely had time to blink, in an instant Sweden's hand was gone and I felt myself being dragged into another man's embrace and pressed flush against his chest, "on mine!"

My face flushed and my heart raced. I had no idea what was happening but… it wasn't bad. To me at least. I could hear, ifeel/i the pounding of blood in my ears as I struggled to keep a straight head. What was happening? I had no idea. The other men in the group laughed loudly and I looked up, only to be met with the face of this man, Denmark, smiling wildly at me and his eyes glistening with playfulness. Up close he was gorgeous. I felt as though the world could crumble around me and nothing else would matter as long as he was still beside me- something I'd never felt for Sweden or any other man.

I remember how he smelled. It was unlike anything I'd ever smelt before and to this day I still can't place it, it was like no mix of scents or anything. It was musky, I remember that much, deep and rich and uniquely him. I guess it was the smell of a man, I'd never been close enough to one, or paying enough attention, in this way to notice before. I regained my composure quick enough, I hope I did at least, and looked back at Sweden.

And if looks could kill Sweden must have already committed murder thrice over.

"Yep! She definitely suits me more, can we trade, Swedey? I'll find ya a nice girl as long as ya give me this one~" Denmark laughed, before ducking out of the way as a fist made its way to his nose. He released me then, to which Sweden grabbed me (with the same annoying tightness as before) and stood for a moment regaining his composure. Looking around I was so thankful that nobody had noticed. Subconsciously I wanted to pry Sweden's hand off of me and run back to Denmark- he was so warm… or maybe that was me. I'd never felt anything like that before, you see.

I realised in an instant that there was no love lost between these two, and in Sweden's case he seemed to downright despise the man. Denmark just looked as though he enjoyed getting Sweden riled up over nothing. I knew he wouldn't have actually touched me (At that moment I thought that way at least) and laughed with them.

I brought a gloved up to my mouth and laughed, eyes crinkling up as my mouth turned upright into a wide grin. When I opened my eyes again the group of men were all chatting happily amongst themselves again, Sweden was looking at me as though I'd gone crazy and Denmark was watching us both with his hands in his pockets and smiling gently.

When it was safe, by his judging, Sweden quickly went around the circle of men (England, France, Germany, Holland, Spain and Denmark) and named their names before giving them mine and departing as fast as he could manage without seeming too rude.

I looked over my shoulder as we left to find Denmark still smiling after us and the elder man, France, giving him a gentle nudging in the ribs before he went back to laughing and play wrestling with the other men.

"' hate th't b'st'rd," Sweden spat as we were out of hearing range, "D'n't 'ver let 'im put 'is 'ands on y'again"

I stayed quiet. Apart from one word; Why?

Sweden didn't answer me. A few latecomers and a talk to Sweden's younger cousin later we separated to talk to our families. But not before he'd made a public show of kissing my lips, something that made my stomach turn in the same fashion it had when I was told of our engagement. When he parted I noticed his eyes glance to the corner where Denmark had been, and no longer was, to make sure he was watching and got the message as to whose I was.

I spoke to Iceland (who was talking to Cousin Mona) only briefly, she sympathised with me greatly, before I excused myself to the bathroom. I made my way down the halls, my heels leaving a dull click behind me as I walked, and ascended the staircase to where the bathroom was located.

"Hey, Norge!" I heard a shout behind me and turned, heart racing at the sound of the voice alone and even fast whence I saw his face. Denmark was standing in the opposite end of the hallway to me, hand in one pocket and the other raised in greeting with a huge smile across his handsome features. I waved back and, I swear my feet carried themselves, walked over to him. "What'cha doin' all the way up here alone?" he asked, leaning over to try and level our heights slightly. I appreciated the gesture for some reason and didn't mind his closeness at all.

Again I felt my cheeks burning up and my stomach knotting itself, not in the way that it did when Sweden had taken my first kiss in front of the packed hall of guests to a round of humiliating applause but… almost pleasantly. Like the knot a stomach gets when you know a favoured relative is visiting soon and you see their car draw up outside.

For the first time I realised that we couldn't be seen- probably a wise choice. I could imagine Sweden's face if he saw us conversing after he'd specifically told me not to.

I leaned against one of the walls and sighed, letting my body collapse lightly. I still don't know why but something told me that I could be my complete self in front of this man, "I needed to get away," I answered honestly. The bathroom could wait but I just needed an escape for the time being.

"Swedey suffocatin' ya?" he smiled and at the look that apparently crossed my face he laughed, "though so. All he's been yapperin' on about at practices is how he had this new wife and how you're this and how you're that and the other," At this point Denmark's voice had begun mimicking Sweden's, something that made me laugh lightly instead of groan like I wanted to, "Surprise engagement I take it?"

I blinked up at him with my face scrunched up, "How did you guess?"

"You didn't look too happy when he was doing the rounds in there. Or when he called you his wife. Or when he touched you. _Or_ when he kissed you," He stopped and kissed the air at this point and I had to cover my face to hide my displeasure at the memory, "thought so. So how's it feel being the future Mrs. Grumpy?"

"Awful," I mumbled under my breath but he heard me. His laughter echoed down the halls and soon he was doubling over, having to use the wall behind me for support. And for the first time I noticed that his hair was tied at the back into a small, spiked ponytail in an attempt to tame it. I wanted to laugh but I couldn't. Not when I realised just exactly how close he was to me.

When he raised himself from his support he still had his hands on the wall, you see… and we were almost chest to chest. His face was hovering just inches away from my own. I realised at this moment the thing that I liked the most about him were his eyes, so bright and revealing- at that moment they were soft and clouded as he smiled gently at me.

Again I felt my chest heave as my heart raced, my breathing became heavy and I felt hot. My stomach knotted itself harder and my legs suddenly gave in. Thankfully he caught me as I collapsed but then we were actually skin to skin. My nose brushed his and I blinked, blood rushing to my face as the sound of my own deafening heart beat blocked out the rest of the world.

"Sweden was right about one thing," he breathed, tilting his head against the crook of my nose,

"…What's that?" I whispered back. I barely had any voice left at this moment.

"You're beautiful."

He kissed me within a matter of seconds, soft lips against my painted ones that straightened out from their smile as they touched.

And I let him.

I placed my hands on his shoulders to hold me up from fainting.

My stomach churned and my hands shook. This was nothing like Sweden's kiss.

His was demanding and forced. Denmark's was gentle and begged me to push him away.

I wouldn't.

But I wouldn't pull him closer either.

His hands rested on my hips as we stood frozen across from the stairwell.

Four hours into my official engagement I had kissed another man.

A man that my fiancée hated.

I regretted nothing.


	4. III

**Marry Me**

_III_

* * *

I don't know how long we stood there, connected by the lips and dead to the outside world, but by the time we hesitantly separated there was a small trickle of guests filtering out from the large lounge room and into the main foyer to leave.

We separated nervously and went our separate ways soon after, he stealing another kiss before rushing down the stairwell to leave with the rest of his rowdy group of men when he heard the familiar voices. And I returned to the party with a downcast gaze and the reddest of reds colouring my cheeks.

When I returned Sweden tried to joke that he'd thought I'd gone for a nap in one of the guest rooms. I told him I'd had to sit down for a while- nerves, I'd lied. He believed me too easily.

"Y'look red," he'd mumbled, placing a large hand on my forehead, "hot too. Y'should sleep if y're ill,"

I smiled weakly at him as my stomach churned with both excitement and guilt. He wasn't a bad person but Denmark… he'd made me feel a passion I'd never felt for anything or anyone before. He was like a fire that had enveloped my entire being to life and left me craving more and more. A fire that I soon discovered would keep burning and burning stronger every day.

I entered into small talk with Sweden once the other guests had left. I found myself more upbeat, more relaxed after my meeting with the other man and for a moment we returned to how we used to be. Until our families arrived, parents drunk and roaring with laughter and humiliating congratulations to the two of us.

Sweden apologised for everything.

I said I forgave him.

I didn't really.

He tried to kiss me again and I let him.

I put my hands on his cheeks and closed my eyes as our lips touched.

I found that if I closed my eyes and dulled the world around me I could imagine that the man kissing me was Denmark instead.

The kiss was different from the one before. I could tell that he was nervous, the old shyness that I used to mock him for returning at the worst of moments, as he moved his thin lips against my own.

I didn't feel the need to throw up that time.

We said our goodbyes to one another's families, or in Sweden and I's case he kissed me goodbye with promises to visit the day after the next, and left.

I sprawled out in my bed and curled up above the sheets, gripping my favourite pillow once we got home.

I dreamt of Denmark that night.

The night repeated itself but with him at my side instead of Sweden. And the meeting on the stairs was still with him. Though not shy and secretive. What I recall we'd ran away from the party to be together more… intimately. All as dream Sweden watched me through Denmark's place with heartache scribbled across part of his features.

I awoke the next morning to Iceland hovering besides my bed and grinning wickedly, not exactly the best thing to wake up to but still better than other things… like Sweden's "husbandly" embrace that I'd soon have to adapt to.

Iceland's eyes danced and her grin widened as she crawled up and under the sheets with me- how I'd gotten under the sheets in my sleep was a mystery in itself- and cuddled up against my back. And all it took was two simple words to make my body lock up and freeze,

"Who's Denmark?"

I leapt back once I regained some composure and in doing so rolled straight out of bed and landed headfirst onto the floor, "Nobody!" I shouted up at her.

"Sure didn't sound like nobody," she sing songed, hanging over the side of my bed and staring at me like a cat that had cornered a mouse, "Denmark, oooh~ Denmark, not here, they can see…" she still sang, imitating my voice.

Any other circumstance I would have paled and considered suicide. But this was my sister. And it was the prerogative of the elder sister to beat up the younger when she was misbehaving.

A small wrestling match and some squealing later I found myself sat triumphantly atop my sister's pinned body swearing her to secrecy. When she'd sworn her allegiance I climbed back in bed, it had been a cold August that year, and lay beside the younger girl under the covers.

"He's that man from the party isn't he?" Iceland smiled. It was too early for her sneakiness so I kept my lips sealed. "Unless there's another man besides the one I saw you cuddling up to outside of Sweden's parents' bedroom…"

I remember slapping my hands over her mouth and holding her down. Iceland says that my face on that day was the most hilarious she'd ever seen. I could have cried! If Iceland had seen us who else had? Spain? Mama? The entirety of the party?!

I was snapped out of my panic by Iceland hugging me and resting her head on my chest, "I won't tell anyone," she promised, "I love you too much,"

And then I did cry. I held her close and cried happily into her silver hair before telling her everything. She hung off of my every word like I was reading her a passage from one of mama's romance novels that I'd caught her sneaking under her pillows in younger years.

I was thankful that of all the people to have possibly caught us it as her. Iceland knew everything from the very beginning and I knew my secret would be safe with her.

But I was now a little bit angry with Denmark for being so foolish as to pounce on me in a busy hallway- he could have at least taken me into one of the bed chambers for the privacy.

I spent the entire day with Iceland by my side. We went into town around midday to shop and talk and just… relax. We slept in the same bed that night like we used to, we shared a bedroom anyway, and repeated this process the next day.

That day however Sweden, true to his word, had shown up at our door… with a black eye and an equally blackened Denmark in tow. They'd been fighting from the looks of it, two men who dislike each other don't just appear with black eyes on the same day by coincidence.

"D'mn'rk has somethin't 'say t'ya an' then he's got t'leave," Sweden explained, pushing the other man forward. Denmark smiled, waved and in a move that only served to infuriate Sweden further introduced himself to Iceland with a hug, a kiss on her cheek and an offer of marriage.

I swiped at his shoulder and laughed, "She's too young for you, come back in two years and we'll discuss"

He smiled and laughed, releasing Iceland but keeping a loose arm around her shoulder "I promise!"

I could tell he was just being playful, Sweden couldn't. He barked at Denmark to do what he came to and departed the room.

I stood with a hand on my hip and with my other hand drew it up into a fist and punched him straight in the gut. In a moment I look back on and laugh at, he yelped and hid behind Iceland for protection who in her own turn rounded on the man and kicked him lightly in the shin.

He looked horrified, backing up against one of the wooden walls of the study- I wondered how easily it would be to push him through.

"I'm sorry!" He cried at us, nursing his injured leg and stomach, "Wha' was that for?!"

I hoisted him up by his ear, where he emitted an even louder yelping noise, and pointed to the innocent looking Iceland, "That was for letting her see!"

He gulped, swallowing deeply and eyeing us both in horror, "You haven't told Swedey have you?"

I smiled again and let myself hug him, "No. And Iceland won't either; she's on our side,"

I felt his chest heave as he gave an audible sigh and let himself fall back, and taking me with him, onto one of the sofas. "So… she knows?"

"She knows," I nodded.

"I know," Iceland added.

"She won't tell?" He asked.

"She won't tell," I confirmed.

"I won't tell," Iceland echoed.

"So I can kiss you again?" He laughed.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," I whispered and smiled when I felt the warm lips once again rub themselves over mine, this time with ease, permission and no fear holding him back.

"Disgusting," I heard Iceland snort from somewhere across the room and laughed at her, letting Denmark gently prop me up with one of his hands.

We stayed, the three of us, like that for a good five or so minutes. My heart pounded with joy and my gut continued to churn in anticipation and want. I think it was at that moment I realised how uncharacterised I was being and pulled away, content for that moment to be held by him without fear.

Vaguely I wondered how different my life would have been if I had met Denmark earlier in my life. Would we be have been wed by now? I liked to think that yes, yes we would have.

It wasn't until much later that I punished myself for letting myself have such thoughts about a man I had only met two nights previously. There was just something about him that had made my entire body and mind lose control just from his mere presence.

From across the room I saw Iceland biting her nails, something she only did when she was either thinking hard or nervous. Iceland, despite her young age was one of the sneakiest women I'd ever met. She could lie her way out of nearly anything and think up a plot on the spot.

In this case, as she revealed to us while we were rubbing noses, she'd thought of a way for us to be together as much as we wanted.

The plan was simple. Opposing the rear garden window was a large flower growth, held up against the height of the house by a wooden mesh. Something that Denmark could climb up easily, Iceland theorised. That night we would ask father to move our bedroom from the current one to this unused one due to "foxes or some other animal making a racket in the front garden at night and preventing us from sleeping". And then all he had to do was wait for a small signal, climb up and Iceland would take her exit into the spare room until I deemed it safe to return.

It was so simple it was ingenious.

We smiled and kissed a final time before Denmark stood to leave, at the sound of Sweden and my father's voices outside, but promising us both to return at night.

I sat staring at my shaking hands and, it had to have been, a deranged look on my eyes as I grinned broadly. The next thing I remember hearing was Iceland's scream and her tackling me back against the sofa, for the second time that day I'd been attacked on that thing, and hugging me until I couldn't breathe.

We were soon interrupted by a not too happy looking Sweden entering the room and whisking me away for a "romantic" stroll around the garden. When we returned and it was time for Sweden to leave, he had a football match that night, my mother commented that I was glowing. Looked the happiest she'd ever seen me in the last few years and that this engagement was a godsend.

Truthfully?

I'd been fantasising about Denmark sweeping me away in the dead of night that evening the whole time.


End file.
